


A Change Each Day (ABANDONED)

by VincentMeoblinn



Series: Finish Me [20]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal, Anal Fingering, F/M, Femlock, Genderfluid Character, M/M, Oral, Other, Pegging, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-01 02:15:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2755811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VincentMeoblinn/pseuds/VincentMeoblinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John first met Sherlock he was a handsome, brilliant, fascinating… and dismissive man. They had an instant report, enough so that John willingly killed for him despite the fact he couldn’t possibly be his Soulmate. Then he moved in and found out that Sherlock wasn’t the man he thought he was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock bid John goodnight after their dinner and headed to his room with a pleasant feeling in his stomach, but the moment he got to his room and glanced towards his closet he remembered that tomorrow things were going to be very different. Today- less than three hours ago- a man had complimented him, defied Mycroft for him, and then _killed_ for him. Sherlock was overwhelmed at the very idea that such an understanding and accepting person could exist. However, those traits would be tested when Sherlock woke up because he could already feel his body swaying.

XXX

John yawned and tried not to stagger as he climbed the steps to his new bedroom. The flat was like a dream come true. His flatmate was like a comic book turned reality. Their landlady was quite possibly insane in that adorable way that made nursing home visits charming and funny. And the case! He would sleep well despite having killed a man. In fact, he imagined tonight would be the first time in a long while that he didn’t have a single nightmare. The rush would soothe him into a pleasant slumber.

XXX

John stretched, scratched, yawned, cleared his throat several times, and then staggered down the steps to the loo. He pissed into the toilet with a sigh of relief. His former flatshare had had a bathroom shared by the entire floor and the smell was always questionable at best. This place was bound to be alarming where the smells were concerned, but at least they were only contributed by two people.

John tugged up his sleep pants, washed up, and wandered out through the kitchen. He put the kettle on, enough for Sherlock out of deference to his flatmate who he could here moving around in the den, and then headed out to ask him how he took his tea… and froze. A woman stood in the sitting room in a loose blue silk robe. Her head was turned away from him, studying the wall above the couch, but her body was in profile. He could see full round breasts covered in deep blue and a peak of a pale calf before it was hidden by the coffee table.

John darted back into the kitchen, had a moment of confusion and panic, and then remembered the kitchen door and headed back up to his room. He quickly donned proper clothes, checked his breath despite the fact that he had just brushed his teeth, and headed down with a spring in his step to walk in through the main entrance into the sitting room.

“Oh, hell… oh,” John gaped as the feminine figure turned towards him and raised one sculpted eyebrow above sea-foam eyes and sharp-as-nails cheekbones.

“Good morning, John,” A deep but decidedly feminine voice stated smoothly, “I trust you slept well?”

“I… ah… yeah. Like a baby, actually. Best sleep I’ve had in ages.”

_Oh my gods, it’s Sherlock! Or a twin sister? An alarmingly similar twin sister?_

“Adrenaline drops will do that,” She nodded.

_Nope. Definitely Sherlock. Wait, is he a she? Or is she a he?_

“So… plans for today?”

“Keeping the couch in place,” Sherlock replied, and so saying she threw herself down onto it in a swirl of silk robe. He got a glimpse of pale thigh before Sherlock tugged the robe into a more appropriate position, “I use my time in between cases to recuperate, heal, make important scientific discoveries.”

“Science, eh? Wouldn’t have known it by the… entire chemistry kit… on the kitchen table.”

“Where else was I supposed to put it? You don’t mind, do you?”

“Well…” John shrugged.

The teapot saved them from an awkward silence by letting out a shriek and John fled to the safety of the kitchen to take a few deep breaths while scrambling for sugar and milk.

“How do you take your tea Sher… Ah… um…”

“Sherlock is fine,” Sherlock replied, “Two sugars no milk.”

John poured and stirred, finding a tray that appeared to be mostly sanitary and brought out their tea. He took a deep breath and sat down on a wooden chair while Sherlock lazily lay with her arm thrown over her head.

“You have questions,” Sherlock stated in the same tone- if higher pitch- that she’d used the night before in the cab.

“No. No. No questions.”

Sherlock removed her arm and gave him a chastising glare.

John swallowed and cleared his throat a few times, “Okay. Well. I suppose… is this part of fitting in at the Yard? I mean… boys club and all. You can see how hard Donovan has to try and…”

“No,” Sherlock replied, cutting off his excuses, “Though I admit that _is_ a benefit. No one at the Yard has seen me like this so for all they know I’m male.”

“So you’re female, then,” John jumped on it, smiling in relief at having a definite answer to his unasked question, “So what was your original n-“

“Nope,” Sherlock replied, popping the P.

“Oh, sorry, it’s just you’re quite lovely… that is, you pull it off so… it’s very convincing…”

“Nope,” Sherlock replied again.

“No what?”

“No, I’m not male,” Sherlock snorted, giving him a superior look.

“Not female or… sorry, transgender?”

“No, though far less inaccurate than your first assumptions.”

John sighed, “All right, why don’t you _tell_ me instead of making me guess?”

“Because it’s legitimately none of your business what’s in my pants or bloomers.”

“Then don’t order me to ask questions!” John snapped, putting his mug down on the table far too hard and then grumbling as he cleaned up the spill.

Sherlock was silent for a moment, and then spoke softly, “I prefer the term ‘polygender’, but genderfluid is also adequate. During cases I identify as male. Outside of cases I identify mostly as female but sometimes as neuter or genderless.”

John nodded, “I see why polygender would be easiest. So pronouns, ah, do I call you what your clothes match? Or should I ask?”

“What my clothes match works. If I seem to be neither or both just go with it. Or avoid pronouns all together and just use my name. I use Sherlock regardless.”

“Um, sorry,” John stammered, “Just to clarify and in no way meaning disrespect… go with it, or go with ‘it’.”

Sherlock snorted, “I’m not offended by being referred to as ‘it’ but in the interest of not having you verbally flayed should you meet someone else who is poly or transgender, ‘it’ is generally insulting.”

“I sort of… assumed… So to recap…”

“Oh gods,” Sherlock sighed, “How _do_ you lot get anything done with all the repetition?”

“Sherlock is good; he, she, and it are okay; and what you keep under your clothes is none of my damn business.”

“Correct.”

“Okay, just so I know,” John nodded, “Except… is my name on your wrist?”

“Sorry?” Sherlock asked in apparent confusion.

“It’s just if I’m not to know what gender you were born with- and I won’t ask again- I’d like to know what name is on your wrist. Just in case it’s mine. You probably already know what name is on mine with that thing you do but…”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Okay. No it’s not my name, or no you won’t tell me?”

“Take your pick,” Sherlock shrugged one graceful shoulder.

“Mine is…”

“Already deduced it, do keep up.”

“Right. Okay. Sorry.”

Soulmarks were _private_ so it wasn’t a surprise that Sherlock wasn’t thrilled with him for broaching that subject. They were too small to read when a baby was born and long before they were visible a flexible band was placed on the child’s wrist for the rest of their natural life. Only in death would your mark be uncovered, and then it was a matter of respect to show it. If you met someone who had your Soulmate’s name you were supposed to mention it, date, get to know each other, and when certain that they were a possible match they would write their names down on a piece of paper and you would compare the handwriting to each mark in private. If it looked similar you would take things to the next level. Or at least that was how it was _supposed_ to work. Everyone knew that the younger generation were starting to post snapshots of their soulmarks- called selfies- on the internet to try and track down their Soulmates faster rather than letting nature take it’s course.

They sat in mostly companionable silence for a few hours, Sherlock lying prostrate while John read the paper and occasionally mentioned an article he found surprising. His mind kept wandering back to Sherlock. The name _had_ to be fake, which meant that the name on his wrist might match the… person… lying before him. Everyone met their Soulmate at some point between the ages of twenty and sixty; it was kismet, but it was also up to the individuals to be _looking_. You bumped into someone on the streets and spilled their coffee all over them you would automatically exchange names and- if the name matched your wrist- cards so you could catch up with them later.

“So this is… fine?” Sherlock asked out of the blue after having given a few disparaging comments about articles John picked out to quote.

“Yeah,” John nodded, realizing what he meant, “Course it is.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

John gradually adjusted to Sherlock’s quirky gender identification. When she was off cases she was undeniably female with full breasts and swaying hips; she was also impatient for a case and prone to outbursts of demanding angst. On the rare occasions her feminine form was actually _dressed_ she preferred suits with either shapely pants or pen skirts and wedge heels. Like her male suits they were tight to the point of button bursting and clearly bespoke. John envied her tailor, as he/she obviously knew more about what Sherlock looked like undressed than her own flatmate.

When Sherlock was male he was just as stroppy as his female form but more likely to wear a full set of clothes. He was also _busy_. He would neglect his body, leave John stranded in odd places while they were working a case together, get injured and not tell anyone, and during long cases he’d go for days without food or sleep. John got used to making sure he didn’t crack his head open on the sidewalk if he happened to collapse.

Then the talk at the Met went from teasing to serious and John anxiously set about defending his sexuality. The problem was, the people at the Yard had _no idea_ that Sherlock was a woman outside of cases so the fact he stared at him a fair amount during cases made no sense to them as anything other than obvious attraction- which it was; attraction to Sherlock’s _female_ form. His male form was handsome obviously, but he just didn’t do it for him the way she did. Which was why he even got desperate enough to offer to show them the female name written inside his wrist. They’d all given him disgusted looks and he’d blushed and muttered an apology for being crude.

Which was why when Lestrade walked into their flat one day without a by-your-leave John was instantly flabbergasted and frantic to keep the man from seeing Sherlock in the stylish Italian suit with a skirt so short as to be scandalous. Her heels were also extra sassy that day; she’d abandoned her wedges for a pair of gorgeous stiletto heels. John had been staring at her all day while she worked on an experiment, knowing full well he could drink in the sight without her noticing if she were glued to her chemistry set. He was storing it for wank fodder and was long past the denial stage after this many months living together. However, he couldn’t let _Lestrade_ see her. It would be all over the NSY in a day and Sherlock would be mocked mercilessly. There was no way they’d understand!

“Greg!” John practically shouted, coming out of his chair and blocking his path to the kitchen, “How’ve you been? It’s been weeks! Sherlock is _starved_ for a case, you know. _HE_ has been driving me insane! You sit on the couch and I’ll go…”

“John,” Sherlock’s feminine voice stopped him in his tracks, “You know _full well_ I prefer feminine pronouns when I’m not on a case.”

John froze. Lestrade grinned.

“I knew already,” The DI chuckled, and gave John a pat on his cheek, “Cute of you to try and protect her. Obvious and poorly executed, but cute nonetheless. Has Sherlock made an honest man out of you yet?”

“We’re not together,” John sighed, “I’m not… whatever it is when someone’s attracted to polygender people.”

“Transsensual, transromantic, pansexual, or polysexual. Take your pick, each have slightly different connotations,” Sherlock stated calmly as she walked around to stand at the windows and stare down at the streets of London, “Just don’t use ‘trannychaser’, it implies you’re only in it for the fetish.”

“What she said,” John nodded, “I’m… not any of those.”

“Yeah,” Lestrade nodded in clear disbelief, “I can’t help but notice you’re _still_ not calling yourself heterosexual.”

“Why are you here, Lestrade?” Sherlock snapped, her tone sharp and accusing, “You’ve got no case on. In fact you’re about to go on vacation.”

“That’s why I’m here to…”

“To _check up on me_?!” Sherlock asked in disgust, turning around with a stunning bob of her styled curls, “Isn’t that _Mycroft’s_ job?”

Lestrade opened his mouth and then flushed in shame and stammered a bit.

“Oh, _disgusting_ ,” Sherlock sneered, “You’re still enamoured with him? Hasn’t he rejected you enough?”

“It doesn’t count as a rejection if I wasn’t even _trying_ to flirt with him!” Lestrade spat out.

“He read Lestrade like a book, realized they were Soulmates, and cut him off at the quick,” Sherlock snorted to John.

“No, no, no!” Lestrade shook his head vehemently, “I wasn’t ever _going_ to hit on him! Therefore it doesn’t count! I’m married and I don’t care about the Soulmate thing! There was no cutting off and no quick!”

“Except for your rejection, apparently,” John sniggered.

“Oi! Not Gay Watson! Shut it!” Lestrade snapped.

“Please, Lestrade,” Sherlock scoffed, “How can he be gay when I’m a woman?”

“Yeah, _now_ ,” Lestrade replied, “Tomorrow you’ll likely be sporting a cock bigger than mine.”

Lestrade laughed and John looked uncomfortable while rubbing at the back of his neck. He knew they were right. Neither of them knew Sherlock’s “true” gender so he might as well stop calling himself straight. He couldn’t lie about the attraction between them- and he was _sure_ that Sherlock felt it as well.

“So now that we’ve established that I’m both beautiful and _clean_ , you can piss off,” Sherlock announced, flicking well-manicured hands at Lestrade. John had no idea how she pulled that off. One day they’d be clean but decidedly short and the next she’d have gorgeous long nails that showed no sign of popping off easily.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lestrade sighed, “See you after vacation.”

Lestrade left and John shook his head at his parting, “Does he really not care about the Soulmate thing?”

“He fell in love with his wife the new-fangled way: without Bonds. They met in a club, shacked up, and decided they’d keep seeing each other. Her Soulmate is dead and Lestrade feels like he can’t leave her. He _does_ love her, but she’s unfaithful and incapable of being so.”

“Because she lost her Soulmate?”

“No,” Sherlock scoffed, “He died while she was off shagging someone else a week from their wedding. She’s a chronic cheater.”

“That’s… sad,” John replied with a frown.

“I suppose.”

“What about you?” John asked.

“I’m a polygender, consulting detective, high functioning sociopath, who keeps body parts in the refrigerator-“

“Oh, again?” John whinged.

“Yes. Who do you think would tolerate me?”

“Your _Soulmate_ ,” John pointed out in frustration, “That’s their point!”

“Yes, but now take a moment and think of what that person would be _like_ ,” Sherlock replied, moving to pace around the flat with sharp shoes clicking loudly even through the carpeted areas, “They’d have to be capable of withstanding my violent mood swings, my obsessions, my-“

“Bodies in the fridge, yeah. I get it. _Soul. Mate._ ”

“ _Psy. Cho,”_ Sherlock replied sharply, “I’d be paired with someone who was mad as a hatter! We’d feed off of each other!”

“Or you’d make each other better,” John argued. _Like I make you better._ _Like you make me feel alive_.

“You’re thinking romantic drivel again,” Sherlock scoffed, “Stop it.”

“It’s not _drivel_! Soulmates are _not_ drivel!”

“Oh, you don’t think so?”

“No!”

“Then you’ll be pleased to know that ‘John’ is on my wrist.”

“Okay. Okay. Right. Mary is on mine,” John stated, shifting from foot to foot anxiously.

“My name is Sherlock, not Mary. There. Case solved.”

“That’s your _legal name_?”

“Yes.”

John hesitated for a moment, pacing the floor and rubbing at his face. Something wasn’t right here. Sherlock was keeping things short. She was lying. She always kept things brief when she lied.

“You’re lying.”

“No I’m not,” Sherlock evaded.

“What name do you _identify_ as?” John asked, leaning forward with both hands on the back of his chair.

Sherlock froze. Her eyes widened and shimmered with unshed tears; an accusing and hurt look on her tense face. She fled. He let her. John rolled up his sleeve and studied a mark that had been on his wrist for his entire life; a mark he’d studied time and again. It was changing. Flat black lines on his wrist that had long contained the delicate swirls of fine penmanship curved into the shape of the name _Mary_ now altered to form a new name. No. A new word _._


	3. Chapter 3

John knocked on Sherlock’s door for the third time in the last two hours. Still no answer.

“Look, I’ll call you whichever gender you want, but I’m not calling you _this_!” John announced, gesturing to his wrist as if Sherlock could see it, “Will you answer to Sherlock?”

No answer.

“Pick another name, then! Damn it, anything but shutting me out! Maybe Mycroft and Lestrade are fine with this but I’m not! I _want_ my Soulmate, Sherlock!”

“I’ll never be what you want in bed, John,” Sherlock replied miserably, “I’m not _right_. My body is _wrong_.”

“Your body is the one you were born with, and if you need to alter it in some way to be happy with it I’ll support you.”

The door unlocked. John stepped inside the room and did a doubletake. Sherlock’s room was normally the only clean one in the flat beside’s John’s. She had a fair amount of knickknacks, but the floor and surfaces were always tidy. Now the room was a wreck, make-up and clothes scattered across every piece of furniture and the entire floor.

“Okay. Okay,” John glanced around and then motioned to the bed Sherlock was sitting in while wrapped in a bedsheet, “Mind if I join you?”

Sherlock shrugged with feigned disinterest.

“Are you wearing pants?” John wondered, hesitating to sit beside her.

“No,” Sherlock replied in his male voice.

“Okay,” John replied, and carefully tipped the contents of a chair onto the floor and sat on it, “I want to court you.”

“No.”

“I’m a patient man, Sherlock.”

“I’m _not_ a man. I’m not a woman. I’m…”

“Don’t you dare say it.”

“What do you expect to happen? That you’ll suddenly like cock? Because I won’t take it off when we’re in bed together.”

“I’ll adjust.”

“To your partner having a _penis_?”

“And mood swings, and more clothes than I own, and-“

“Body parts in the fridge,” They finished together.

“You constantly defend your sexuality,” Sherlock retorted.

“I’ll stop.”

“You shouldn’t _have_ to! You shouldn’t have to change yourself to be with me!”

“You shouldn’t have to change yourself to tolerate yourself,” John replied, “Yet here we are. Talk to me. Transition. I’ve been looking it up. Where are you?”

“Almost… sort of… there?” Sherlock asked, then sighed in frustration and sank back on his bed to lay flat, “I don’t know, John. Some days I want surgery and some days I don’t. I don’t think I’d be happy either way.”

“What about somewhere in between?” John asked, bravely moving to sit on the bed with one foot on the floor.

Sherlock shrugged, “Not sure.”

“Okay so… dildos? I’m assuming you have them? To wear, I mean.”

“I have STP _packers_ ,” Sherlock replied, giving him a disgusted look.

“What now?”

“Soft dildos that have hoses and little cups so I can piss through them,” Sherlock grumbled, “I keep them on with a harness. The same harness can be used for penetrative sex but I’ve never tried it.”

“You don’t have a stiff one around to just… try it out? See how it feels to be hard and…”

“I’m only male during cases.”

“And right now,” John pointed out, “Unless I’m _seriously_ misreading you.”

Sherlock shrugged, “You bring it out in me sometimes.”

“Well, that’s because I’m just so damn _manly_ ,” John teased.

Sherlock snickered and they dissolved into awkward giggles.

“What are we doing here, Sherlock Holmes? _What_?” John asked staring around himself, “What are we doing sitting on your bed discussing your penises?”

“And your potential interest in them,” Sherlock reminded.

“Yes, that. Will I have to bottom? Because I can do anal one way, but I’m not so sure about the other way.”

“Greedy,” Sherlock accused.

“Well you can’t _get_ anything out of it.”

“As a doctor I assumed you at least had a _basic_ understanding of biology,” Sherlock sighed.

“I know plastic isn’t biological,” John replied, and then winced as he realized he’d possibly took it too far. Luckily for him Sherlock took him literally and launched into an explanation.

“A properly applied harness allows the base of the phallus to press against the clitoris, thereby achieving arousal and possibly orgasm. This can be intensified through the use of vibrating bullets.”

“Someone’s done their research,” John snickered.

“No, just had it prattled at me by _Mycroft_.”

“Your broth… well, that’s off-putting.”

“Yes. He knows you’re my Soulmate. He wants us to be together. He was _lecturing_ me about how to have sex with you as a _male_. As if he’d know! The man wouldn’t even know what an arsehole looked like if he didn’t own a mirror.”

They both snickered again and John let himself fall back on Sherlock’s bed.

“There are stars on your ceiling,” John noticed.

“Yes, well…” Sherlock cleared his throat awkwardly, “You made such a big deal out of the solar system…”

“So you put stars on your ceiling?”

“They’re the constellations you can see over London year-round,” Sherlock scolded, “I rather got into it when I looked it up.”

“Do they glow in the dark?”

“Of course.”

“Oh good,” John grinned. They fell into a comfortable silence until Sherlock cautiously spoke again.

“You know,” Sherlock stated, his tone surprisingly uncertain, “I know of several Soulmates who don’t have _that_ sort of relationship.”

“A sexual one, you mean.”

“Precisely. And I’ve gone ten years without sex, I can certainly…”

“ _You’ve_ had sex?”

“No, I’m being rhetorical,” Sherlock replied sarcastically, “ _Listen_ , will you? It’s one of your better attributes normally.”

“Fine, go on.”

“I can go without for the rest of my life _quite_ happily if it means you’ll be content with me as your platonic Soulmate.”

“You don’t-“

“ _Shhh!_ ”

John sighed.

“My point is,” Sherlock continued, “I’ve not had a problem with you dating and sating your baser urges elsewhere. Then you come home to me and we have a nice, exciting case! It will be perfect!”

“You _did_ have a problem with it, and what do I tell my dates?”

“That you and your Soulmate are in a platonic relationship, or polygamous if you’re more comfortable with that, and you’re looking for a wife.”

John frowned. He knew full well that Sherlock was _not_ okay with John dating, but apparently he was determined to ignore it. It was just like Sherlock to be completely oblivious about something to do with himself. Sherlock was the sort who needed _proof_ blatantly placed in front of his face to be able to absorb it. John struggled with the right words for a moment, very aware of Sherlock’s warm body and even breathing less than a foot from him. He wanted to hold him. He wanted him to at least _try_ being intimate with him, even if it ended awkwardly he was certain that they’d be able to laugh it off and move on.

“Okay,” John agreed reluctantly, “We’ll give it a try that way, but I want you to keep an open mind. I’ve done that for you, you can certainly do it for me.”

“That seems fair,” Sherlock sighed as if much put upon.

XXX

The last thing John wanted was to bring an innocent woman into the middle of his awkward Soulmate situation, so the next day he headed to work early, stopped at a café, and brought an extra coffee with him.

“Sarah?” John knocked on her door, not surprised to find her in early, “I brought you something more palatable than the office stuff.

Sarah sighed in frustration, “More time off, John? Why do you even stay on?”

“No, no, not that. Something… more personal, actually. Can I talk to you in private?”

She motioned to the door and he shut it, joining her with a sigh as he placed both coffees down on her desk.

“I’ve met my Soulmate and-“

“John!” Sarah cried out, “That’s fantastic! I thought you’d given up!”

“Yes well, turns out she was right in front of me the whole time but-“

“You know, a friend of mine found _her_ Soulmate the second she stopped looking. It’s a thing apparently,” Sarah smiled happily, “You’ll be needing Bonding Time-“

“No,” John said sharply, “I won’t. She refuses to Bond with me.”

Sarah’s face fell and she stared at him aghast, “Oh gods, John… I’m so sorry!”

“It’s… fine,” John stared down at his coffee for a moment, “I understand. She’s had a rough life and... You remember Sherlock?”

“The fellow who you write about on your blog? Who kept interrupting our dates and saved us from being shot? Yeah, I think I remember him,” Sarah snorted, then paused, “Oh gods, _he’s_ with _her_?!”

“No. Yes. Well they’re one and the same. Listen I’m… sort of breeching a confidence here- she doesn’t hide it from everyone but she never gave me permission to tell you and I don’t put it on the blog- but Sherlock’s polygender.”

“So Sherlock _is_ Mary,” Sarah replied, having asked John the name on his wrist on their second date.

“Actually the name on my wrist altered to match the name she identifies by more now, but yes. Sherlock _was_ Mary. Thing is she doesn’t want to give up her male side- and I don’t want to make her- so she’s decided for the both of us that it’s better if I date other people.”

Sarah shook her head sadly, “I’m so sorry, John. Do you want me to talk to her? Woman to… whichever?”

“Actually, I wanted your help convincing her in a different way.”

“How so?”

“It’s Sherlock’s _male_ side I need to convince, not his female side. I know _she’s_ attracted to me, but _he’s_ terrified and hides behind a stubborn veneer. He wants me to date women while being in a platonic relationship with him. I need to show him that it will _not_ work. That he might not _want_ to be jealous, but he obviously will be.”

“He was a clingy wreck when we were… hang on. You want to pretend to date?” Sarah asked, eyes flashing.

“If you don’t mind. I’d rather not lie to a woman and drag her through a fake relationship. It’s just so… cold. Even if she never fell for me it’s dishonest.”

“So we pretend we rekindled and then what?”

“He’s male during cases. I’ll let you know when I’m headed for one and you call me. Even if you just sit the phone down on the desk and let me chat into it without you replying it should set him off. Even better if we make plans to hang out- I’ll pay obviously- and they interfere with cases. I can watch the papers to see when a big one might come up. You’ll get a free meal and I’ll run off with him while complaining loudly about it. Eventually he’ll see reason.”

“You had me at free meal. Just… no more abductions, right?”

“I’ll do my best,” John replied with a chuckle that she didn’t return, “That is… Yeah. I’ll keep it off the blog and make sure you’re well warned if something dangerous comes up.”

“That’s better,” Sarah nodded, picking up her coffee and taking a sip, “Ugh. You brought me Janet’s favourite again. Thank goodness Sherlock’s already attached to you if you _still_ can’t remember my drink from the girlfriend after me.”

“Sorry,” John sighed.

“Well, _boyfriend_ , good thing you came in early. You can go out and get me the right one. Caramel Latte with lowfat milk.”

“I’m on it,” John nodded, and then hesitated, “Could you write that down?”

“ _What_ does she see in you?!” Sarah laughed, reaching for a sticky tab.

XXX

“I’m sorry, Sherlock,” John frowned, “You told me to date and I am. Sarah and I have plans.”

“You don’t even like her!” Sherlock snapped, waving his scarf in the air.

“I like her tits,” John shrugged, “That’s enough for me. She’s only for sex after all. Besides, I could be honest with her. I don’t want to lead someone on. While I’m getting off with her she’s free to continue searching for her Soulmate while still getting companionship on the side.”

“So shag her after the case is over!” Sherlock snapped.

“That’s not how it works, Sherlock. Women like more than just a quick shag, they like companionship and cuddling.”

“I think I know better than you what women want!” Sherlock snapped.

John snorted, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have made a generalization. I meant _some women_ like more than just a quick shag.”

“Then find one that doesn’t!” Sherlock argued, “ _I’m_ your Soulmate! I should come first!”

“You do,” John stated, wincing honestly at Sherlock’s frustration, “I spend every day with you. I share a flat with you. Thing is you aren’t giving me what _I_ need either, Sherlock. _I_ want companionship and cuddling. I want to feel close to someone in a not-fighting-for-our-livessort of way. I’m sorry, but I put this off twice already. I’m going out with Sarah tonight. Contact Lestrade if the situation is dangerous. He’ll be your backup.”

John gave Sherlock a one-armed hug and headed out the door with a heavy feeling in his gut. He met Sarah at the restaurant. She had already settled down and ordered.

“Oh! Sorry, I really didn’t think you’d show again.”

“Sorry,” John sighed.

“Don’t be,” Sarah laughed, “I’m the one getting regular free meals. Would you like your credit card back?”

“No, he might still show up and drag me out by my ear,” John teased.

“Well aside from him being oblivious how…” Sarah stopped, giving John a puzzled look as he shook his head and did his best to signal her subtly. He picked up a napkin to whipe at his mouth and spoke softly through it.

“He might have blown off the case to spy on us. He can read lips. Don’t text me either.”

“You got it,” She smiled, pretending he’d had something on his mouth.

“Thanks,” John grinned, “So where’s our waiter? I’m starved.”

John was three quarter’s of the way through his meal, genuinely enjoying his time with Sarah and wondering if she _was_ up for some casual sex, when their waiter showed up again out of the blue. He had interrupted their conversation several times, usually to prattle on with an annoyingly thick French accent. John could barely understand him and wasn’t even certain he was speaking English the whole time. He kept dismissing him but the prat kept returning, apparently content to ignore his other tables in lue of harassing John and his date.

“Look,” John snapped, standing up and meeting the bloke’s eyes, “I am on a… _cock!”_

“Well not yet, you’re not,” Sarah snickered.

John flinched. Sherlock gave her a baffled look, and Sarah’s hand flew over her mouth as she tried hard to suppress her giggles and blushed horribly. Sherlock dipped his napkin in Sarah’s water and wiped off his marker moustache.

“Does that look wipe off your face too?” Sherlock asked, “It’s unlikely to win Sarah into your bed, which _was_ the point of your evening if I was informed correctly. Yet you’ve been here with her for _two hours_ , chatting like hens rather than _getting it over with_.”

“I don’t want to _get it over with_ , Sherlock,” John snapped, “I want to enjoy someone! Slowly! _Passionately!_ This isn’t some experiment you run to get results. The goal isn’t ejaculation! It’s _so much more_ , and you’re bloody oblivious!”

John’s voice had been shamefully loud and the manager was headed over, a confused and infuriated look on his face as he took in Sherlock’s tux and John’s offensive words.

“I didn’t agree to _this_!” Sherlock snapped, gesturing to Sarah, “You were supposed to get sex from her, not romance her!”

“I’m enjoying the company of a friend,” John replied, “Not romancing her!”

“Gentlemen…” The manager started.

“Shut it!” John snapped.

“For what it’s worth, I’m not really feeling romanced,” Sarah interjected unhelpfully.

“See that?” John snapped, “You’re ruining everything!”

“ _I’m_ ruining everything?!” Sherlock shouted back, “You’re the one who can’t manage to go for more than a month without getting your dick wet!”

“I’m calling the police!” The manager snapped, pulling out his mobile, “This is _not_ that sort of restaurant!”

“If you would just ignore your transport,” Sherlock replied, “We could be together properly!”

“Properly means _not_ ignoring our transport!”

“I suggest you both leave before they get here!” The manager shouted over them.

“I’ve a right to say no to sex!”

“Yeah, and I’ve a right to say yes to it! You gave me bloody permission! Now look at you! Showing up at my dates _again_ to try and snatch up all my attention!”

“ _Two hours_ , John! You could have shagged her twice over with your recovery rate!”

“Really?” Sarah asked, “Maybe I _will_ give it a go.”

John and Sherlock both paused to stare at her in surprise, but Sherlock had apparently had all he could take. With an outraged snarl he launched himself at Sarah, toppling her out of the chair as he pulled at her hair in an attempt to smash her head into the floor. Horrified, John pried them apart with the manager’s help. Sarah stood on her own two feet, shocked and a bit shaken but otherwise her own stoic self.

“I don’t think he’s into this, John,” Sarah stated, giving him a clearly pretend look of distress.

John was far more preoccupied with what had just happened to continue their ruse, “Sherlock, you can’t _hit a girl_!”

“Police! Over here!” The manager shouted as two PC’s headed towards them with scowls firmly in place, “These two are disrupting my restaurant and _that one_ attacked this poor woman!”

“Bloody hell,” John groaned miserably.


	4. Chapter 4

Lestrade sighed in frustration. He’d arrived on scene at the last second, having been carted in by Mycroft’s henchmen when he realized Sherlock was in a delicate situation. He found Susan refusing to press charges, but the manager more than eager to. Sadly, none of the stories added up and the patrons were split down the middle; some said Sarah had provoked Sherlock while others were of the opinion that Sherlock should be hung. Since it was so unusual for _anyone_ to side with Sherlock, Lestrade was more than a bit confused. When they had threatened to add her name on to John and Sherlock’s charges and give her an ASBO she’d suddenly become talkative, much to John’s horror.

“Look, this whole thing wasn’t supposed to go down like this.”

“This is for a case?” Lestrade asked.

“Yes,” Sherlock lied.

“Well…” John hesitated.

“No,” Susan replied, not knowing better.

“So what is this?” Lestrade asked, “Maybe we can work something out with the owner?”

The owner didn’t agree, but Susan jumped on it despite John and Sherlock arguing with her to stay silent. The problem was, with John and Sherlock shouting over her what _Lestrade_ and everyone around her heard was:

“John asked me to go out… Soulmate… playing… no idea...”

“Shut up!” Lestrade shouted at them, “You’re her Soulmate?”

John blinked in surprise and glanced over at Sherlock for support, clearing his throat anxiously.

“John and I are Soulmates,” Sherlock informed Lestrade, “He went out with Sarah…”

Sherlock was probably going to explain things further, but Lestrade cut him off as he turned to John in clear outrage.

“You’re _cheating_ on your _Soulmate?!_ ”

The room dropped into appalled silence, the pro-Sarah group turning on her at once in horror and disgust. Now the pro-Sherlock group made sense; they were the ones who had heard someone mention Sherlock as John’s Soulmate during the fight. Cheating on a partner was understandable, but cheating on a _Soulmate_ was the most vile and disgusting thing a person could do that didn’t involve children. Well… didn’t involve children _directly_.

“You know, I’m shocked at you John,” Lestrade spoke coldy, his voice thick with anger, “ _Hitting_ your date?”

“Hitting my… no wait… Sherlock was… not that he _meant_ to but…”

“You really think a room full of witnesses are going to lie about this? Even if a _few_ side with you I’ll be believed over a _Cheater_?”

John sighed and motioned between Sherlock and Lestrade, “Sherlock, could you…?”

“Sarah, restate your previous sentence in the now silent room,” Sherlock responded, looking amused rather than horrified as John felt.

“John asked me to go out with him to make his Soulmate jealous,” Sarah ground out, “I was _just_ playing my part. I had _no_ idea it would get to violence.”

“Oh,” Lestrade stated, “So this was a set-up?”

“Obvious,” Sherlock stated, his face going pale, “It was so obvious. Why didn’t I see it? You even said…” Sherlock pointed at Sarah but his mouth wasn’t making any more sound as it opened and shut uselessly.

“There are no damages,” John sighed, “We didn’t mean to cause a disturbance. Sarah won’t press charges. Let’s just pay the bill and _leave_.”

“You don’t come back,” The manager snapped, “And you owe double!”

“Fine,” John grumbled.

XXX

Sherlock didn’t return to the flat with John. He took a separate cab stating he didn’t want John to talk to him and vanished into the night. John went home after texting him to let him know if he wasn’t okay. After a few hours Sherlock came home, stormed into his room, and slammed the door loudly. John waited for a text or shout but it didn’t come so he settled back to read his medical journal. It was another couple of hours and a trip to the bathroom before John suddenly heard frightened screaming and shouting from Sherlock’s room.

“John! _John!_ ”

John was up out of his chair, over it, and down the hall before he could finish processing the sounds. The door was unlocked and he rushed in without stopping to grab for a weapon. What he saw had him stopping dead in his tracks in shock.

XXX

Sherlock didn’t question his desires anymore. When he left the restaurant with an odd feeling in his trousers he gave it a cursory study and realized the odd feeling was because his packer was _too small_. No. Not too small. Too limp. Sherlock was aroused as a male- something that rarely happened- and his prick was decidedly limp. He needed to have an erection or he wouldn’t feel right.

Sherlock immediately separated from John, headed to the nearest adult store, perused the isles until he found a penis the size he imagined his own erection would be, and bought it along with an attachment for his harness that would vibrate over his ‘other parts’.

Sherlock went home, washed up his new toys in the bathroom, installed the batteries and spent nearly fifteen minutes just trying to _adjust_ the damn things! An erection was troublesome, it seemed. It weighed down the front of the harness so that Sherlock had to change all of his usual buckle holes around. When he finally got it settled he wasn’t even sure he was still in the mood anymore. He masturbated so rarely, usually while in the middle of an experiment that didn’t require he use both hands and always while female, that he wasn’t sure how exactly this would work for him. Still, he’d taken this much time to get it started, he might as well finish.

Sherlock flipped the vibrator on and felt an unfamiliar jolt shoot through him. He gasped and writhed a bit on the bed, adjusting to the feeling by breathing deeply through his nose and out his mouth. Then he took himself in hand and slid his dry fingers along his new shaft. Stroking himself meant the vibrator pressed against him _just so_ on the down-stroke and then teased away on the upstroke. The unfamiliar feel of an erect member left him moaning in longing. What would _John_ feel like in his grasp? Would he be shorn? Uncut? Sherlock searched his memory and deduced uncut. Good. Sherlock’s strokes sped up, his back arching as pleasure shot through him. He couldn’t touch his nipples while his chest was bound, but he could fondle other erotic areas. The apex of his thighs was one that drove him crazy, and beside that was the soft sack beneath his cock that the fondling of drove the vibrator even more firmly against what he mentally dubbed his ‘sissy cock’ during his man phases.

Sherlock was soon gasping and writhing as he chased after his release. In his mind it was John’s hand stroking his shaft while he took his Soulmate firmly in hand as well. The very idea of another person involved would normally disgust Sherlock, but now he found himself overwhelmed by the thought. He was on the brink of orgasm so quickly it shocked him.

Sherlock fumbled for the pump that he’d until now thought of in the way, but now it was elusive and evaded his grasp. When he had it in his hand he gave it three firm squeezes and pried his eyes open. Hot fluids pulsed across his chest and dribbled down his grasping hand. He stilled his hand and a shocked cry of pleasure unlike any he’d ever felt flowed through him. It was terrifying to be so overwhelmed, so much so that he instinctively screamed for his absent Soulmate. Just the sound of John’s lips on his own brought an image into his mind of John lost in his own pleasure, mouth open in a silent _O_ as Sherlock thrust inside of his body. Sherlock shuddered and moaned out another orgasm, his body all but convulsing on the bed as he frantically jerked his now slick shaft.

Over stimulated and exhausted, Sherlock fumbled for the switch beneath his bollocks, shut off the vibration, and lay on the bed trembling through the aftershocks of his climaxes. He didn’t open his eyes until someone cleared their throat, and by then he’d relaxed so far that he nearly pulled a muscle jerking his head upright.

“I thought…” John stated, standing in the doorway with blown pupils and a clearly defined hard on, “I thought you said you didn’t have one of those.”

“I just bought it,” Sherlock stated, “I… I needed to get off.”

“Yeah,” John licked his lips, “Sorry. I thought… I thought I heard you shouting for help.”

“I think I shouted for _you_ ,” Sherlock replied, eyebrows furrowed, “But it’s all a bit muddled now.”

“Should I… I should go.”

“No,” Sherlock replied firmly, “Come here.”

John hesitated and then stepped forward, pausing with one knee up on the bed as Sherlock struggled into a sitting position. He was straddling John’s thigh, his erection leaking onto his flesh.

“Sherlock?” John asked, freezing when his attempt to pull back was thwarted.

“Off. Take these off,” Sherlock ordered, indicating his trousers.

John stepped back and stripped himself from the waist down before waiting for further instruction. _Oh_. _Oh, that is_ good _. Very good._

“Good,” Sherlock echoed out loud, biting at his lower lip, “Come closer.”

John stepped forward and Sherlock reached out to wrap his hands around John’s thick shaft. He was just as Sherlock had deduced he’d be based on his size and heritage: Average length, above average girth, and uncircumsized. The red head of his cock was peaking most of the way out of his foreskin and drooling with need. Sherlock pressed a kiss to it that brought a startled gasp from his Soulmate.

Sherlock began to move his clean hand in firm motions, and John threw his head back and let out a startled sound.

“Oh gods, it’s true,” He gasped.

“What’s true?” Sherlock wondered.

“Soulmates. Touch. Fucking hell, Sherlock!” John cried out, his voice taking on a hysterical note.

“Should I stop?”

“NO!” John screamed, then got his voice back under control with a soft whimper, “Oh gods, I’m going to come so bloody fast.”

“Good,” Sherlock replied, then reached his spunk-slicked hand down beneath John’s bollocks and ran a wet digit across the crack of his arse. John clenched instantly, “Stop that. _Relax_.”

“Oh fuck, I’m not sure…” John started, but Sherlock stilled both hands and John gave him a look of absolute horror, “Fuck! Do whatever you want, just _don’t stop!_ ”

Sherlock’s hand resumed it’s fast pace while Sherlock leaned forward to pepper kisses to John’s hip. John moaned throatily and moved one leg further from the other to give Sherlock’s questing digit more room. Sherlock teased his entrance in circles but soon found he needed more fluids. He reached down and collected them from his chest and cockhead. Once done, he pressed his middle finger against John’s entrance and pushed just a bit. He fluttered open and Sherlock slid in a bit, paused and pulled back out, then pressed slowly but firmly in until his finger was ensconced in tight, clenching heat.

“Oh, John,” Sherlock whispered, “You’re so _hot_.”

“Sh-sh-Sherlock,” John gasped, “M’close.”

“Good,” Sherlock growled deeply, “Come for me.”

Then he bit him firmly on the edge of his thigh. John screamed, his cock pulsing in Sherlock’s hand as the muscles around his other finger clenched tightly and tried to draw Sherlock in. The consulting detective smiled against he flesh he was abusing and curled his digit. John screamed again, his cock making a valiant attempt to expel more fluids as his prostate was stroked to draw out his orgasm.

“Oh gods, oh gods, oh _fuck_ , Sherlock!” John sobbed, clutching and pulling at his hair with both hands. He wasn’t trying to remove Sherlock, in fact he was pressing him _closer_.

Sherlock slid his finger and teeth free just in time for John to wobble and fall flat on his arse on the floor. He stared up at Sherlock with wide, frightened eyes. He’d been tugging his hair at some point and it was in wild disarray. His chest heaved as he sought out enough oxygen to bring him down from his high.

“Sherlock,” John whispered.

“Are you alright?” Sherlock asked.

“I’m… I dunno what I am.”

Sherlock let that sit between them for a moment, John shutting his eyes and leaning back against Sherlock’s chest of drawers. Sherlock stared down at his hands for a moment and then rose on shaky legs.

“Where are you going?” John asked instantly.

“To wash my hands. And penis.”

“Fetch me a wet flannel?” John asked.

Sherlock didn’t reply. He rather thought that part was obvious. He headed into the bathroom and cleaned up, removing his phallus and replacing it with the far more comfortable STP packer with the soft cup for urinating. He had to readjust all of his buckles again. Sherlock took that moment to clean up his sissy cock and the surrounding area before taking a nice long piss. He would just have to buy a second harness if this madness was to continue. It really _was_ too much of a bother to adjust the damn things. Once done he washed up his hands again and fetched John a warm, wet flannel. John was gone.

No, he was on the _floor_ still, but now he’d collapsed onto his side and was staring blankly beneath Sherlock’s bed.

“Whatever is under there, I can explain,” Sherlock stated jokingly.

John blinked up at him, “Didn’t think you were coming back.”

“I do live here,” Sherlock replied.

“You vanish for days sometimes,” John shrugged.

“You asked for a flannel.”

“You didn’t answer.”

“I assumed the answer was implied. I fingered your arse. Bringing you something to clean up is good manners.”

John cracked a grin and Sherlock felt something in him unwind a bit, “Since when do you do manners?”

Sherlock smiled and knelt down to pull John’s arsecheeks apart. John rolled most of the way onto his belly, giving Sherlock better access.

“Is it foul?”

“No.”

“I didn’t wash up for you.”

“I washed my hands twice.”

“I’m a bit embarrassed.”

Sherlock shrugged, “If I’m not willing to deal with the fact that shit happens then I should probably avoid your arse. Since I’m fine with it you have no reason to feel embarrassment.”

“Then we’re doing this?”

Sherlock hesitated.

“Sherlock,” John pleaded, pushing himself upright and ignoring the flannel, “Please tell me we’re doing this. I just had the most mind-blowing orgasm of my _life_. You are _clearly_ not okay with me seeing other people. It can’t be a coincidence that you’re suddenly into tossing off with a todger… and then with mine.”

“You’re already questioning yourself.”

“I’m not,” John shook his head, “I’m just amazed at how easy this is. I’ve never wanted a man before you.”

Sherlock’s blinked in shock, he took a breath, let it out, and simply stared at John. Minutes ticked by.

“Okay, now it’s just getting scary,” John sighed, hand on chin.

Sherlock blinked a few more times and then started up again, “So I’m your… choice?”

“If you can call it a choice, yeah. Course you are,” John nodded, “I’d rather be with you than anyone else, so… yeah. I chose my Soulmate. You were made for me, and I was made for you.”

“Romantic drivel aside-“

“Of course,” John snorted.

“-You really want this? Me? The whole… messy package?”

“Packer and all,” John grinned.

XXX

Sherlock was pacing the cubicle while John clicked away on the computer mouse in front of him.

“You’re sure about this?” Sherlock asked, pausing beside him, “No one finds your lack of intimidation around Mycroft sexier than I do, but he really _can_ make your life a living hell.”

“Mm-hm,” John acknowledged, filling out his date of birth.

“And this _is_ forever, you know. Mycroft would never let you divorce me. He’d hunt you down first.”

John snorted in derision, “Your turn, fill this out and don’t lie. I’ll check your answers when you’re done.”

John moved and Sherlock flopped down in the seat, quickly clicking and typing away on the ancient computer in front of him.

“Done,” Sherlock stated, standing with a click of Prada heels.

John sat down and reviewed the screen, “You have an awful lot of aliases.”

“Transition does that sometimes.”

“Shezza?”

“Shut up.”

John continued for a moment, “So it really _was_ Mary for so long. Why Sherlock?”

“It was that or Sherrinford.”

“Why either?”

“I like to shush people, I’m very sure of myself, and locked room murders are my favourite.”

“Yeah, okay, Ford?”

“My deceased brother was named Ford. I thought it apt but Mycroft pointed out it would make Mummy sad.”

“Oh, sorry,” John muttered, going back to the screen, “Really, though? Shezza?”

“I was high!”

“Fine.”

“So about your parents…”

“No.”

“I haven’t said…”

“No.”

“Okay, but the wedding?”

“We’re having one of those?”

“Why not?”

“I thought this was it,” Sherlock replied.

“Yeah, but I’d like to show you off, you know?”

Sherlock paused a moment, “Will there be dancing?”

“If you like, but I might need lessons.”

“Can we start tonight?”

“What, lessons?”

“Yes.”

“You can dance?”

Sherlock stepped back and did an expert pirouette.

“We are having the biggest fucking wedding your rich brother can afford,” John stated, “And there will be dancing.”

“And a murder?”

“Probably,” John nodded, “We’ll invite Lestrade. He knows how to give you gifts.”

“And Molly.”

“Yeah, of course,” John smiled, “Okay, this looks fine. And mostly real. Real enough to be legal. Now we hit print, sign the bottom, and take it in to the nice lady over there _who you will be polite to_.”

“You spoil all my fun.”

“I’ll suck your cock next time you’re a boy.”

“Oh. Well,” Sherlock blinked, “That would make up for it.”

“Good.”

They signed off on their papers and were informed they’d receive their marriage license in the mail. John dragged Sherlock to the nearest jewellery store to buy wedding bands. The thin strips of flexible gold metal would cover their Soulmarks, proclaiming to all and sundry that they were effectively off the market.

“You don’t have any family heirlooms or something?” John asked, studying the various banding, “I’d hate to step on some posh tradition.”

“Mycroft has them,” Sherlock shrugged, “I’m not terribly attached. My parents were old fashioned. I want silver and you to wear gold.”

“Why?”

“We look better in those colours.”

“We won’t match.”

“We already match where it counts,” Sherlock shrugged.

John grinned and selected a white gold band that looked less like a watch band than the others and more like proper jewellery. Sherlock selected a gold one that looked like bloody chain mail. John was instantly in love with it.

“Well that’s… good.”

“It’s you,” Sherlock smiled. They headed to the counter, bought their choices, and stashed them away for the wedding ceremony.

“We’ll each need a best man.”

“Lestrade for you,” Sherlock stated, “He’s a man and good at it.”

“Molly? Or would that just destroy her?”

“Quite possibly,” Sherlock sighed, “Perhaps Mike?”

They chatted about it for a while as they headed home, making plans and laughing about how insane they were likely to drive Moriarty. Then Sherlock got a call for a case and they split up, John to head to the scene ahead of him while Sherlock bolted for home and a clothing change. Except John never made it to the scene. Instead he ended up in a darkened pool with a bomb strapped to his chest and a red dot dancing around his sternum.


	5. Chapter 5

“Jim Moriarty. _Hi!_ ”

“So _you’re_ my biggest fan, are you?” Sherlock replied, “Yet I’ve heard so little of you. Only whispers in the dark.”

“You managed to spoil quite a lot of my fun, despite not knowing whose day you were trodding on,” Moriarty frowned angrily.

“The cabby and the circus.”

“And the car lot with the insurance scheme. And the miserable lover with his obnoxious TV show host “victim”- bless his soul for taking her out. Honestly, her voice made my teeth ache.”

“Oh were, those you? They were so childish I assumed the morons indicted had thought them up,” Sherlock mocked casually.

“Sherlock,” John uttered softly, “Please don’t mock the man considering killing me.”

“Yeah, Sherlock,” Moriarty growled, all joking gone, “Don’t _toy_ with me. I had fun watching you struggle with my little pawns, but the game is over. _Daddy’s had enough now!_ ”

Sherlock smiled slowly, “The game is _never_ over. It just changes a bit. John, we never agreed on a date. How’s three months from today? That’s enough time to get a tuxedo fitted, isn’t it Jim?”

Moriarty cocked his head to one side while John’s eyebrows furrowed, “Assuming we get out of this _alive_. Yeah, sure. That’s fine.”

“What about you, Jim? Is that date free? Say eightish? I’ve always favoured night weddings.”

“I could be free,” Moriarty replied, “Are you inviting me to your _wedding_?”

“Not just inviting you, no. I’d like you to be my Best Man. After all you _do_ know me better than most, don’t you?”

“What?!” John gaped.

“Oh, that _is_ interesting,” Moriarty shifted, his eyes roving over Sherlock considerably, his movements were snakelike and his eyes danced darkly, “I’d have to _not_ kill you and your groom to accept the honour, of course.”

“Oh,” John stated, “Yeah, that’s good. Good idea, that.”

“Of course,” Sherlock stated, acknowledging them both at the same time.

“Cake?” Moriarty considered, “Chocolate?”

“With _raspberries_ ,” Sherlock teased, a small smile at the corner of his lips.

“Mmm,” Moriarty attested, “I do like raspberries.”

“I deduced you might,” Sherlock smirked.

“We can’t be chasing each other…” Moriarty wavered.

“A truce,” Sherlock stated, “You can contact me on my website. Send me a carefully worded hint not to follow a case that is yours and I will not. It won’t be enough to go after you legally- if you’re as smart as I believe- but it will be enough to deter me.”

Sherlock reached slowly into his back pocket and drew out the gold band that was to grace John’s wrist. He held it out to Moriarty who walked up with an interested look on his face. He accepted it and gave it an admiring glance before slipping it into his pocket.

“Tell you what, Sherlock,” Moriarty smiled pleasantly, “I’ll even give you an early wedding present. The ‘hints’ you asked for will be in the form of puzzles and ciphers.”

“Oh!” Sherlock exclaimed, eyes lighting up, “That _does_ sound fun!”

“I thought you’d like th-“

Moriarty’s words were cut off by John throwing his arms around him.

“Run Sherlock! Well, now, Mr. Moriarty,” John growled, “You call off your men or we both go up! And give my fiancée back my ring!”

“Oh, I hope that’s for _him_ ,” Moriarty frowned, “You’re not my type, Johnny boy.”

“Sorry about that,” Sherlock sighed, “He gets off on danger. John, let him go. The snipers are all around us anyway.”

So saying the dot shifted to Sherlock’s head and John let go with a look of horror on his face. Moriarty stepped aside and brushed off his suit.

“Mine does too,” He confided in Sherlock with a smirk, “Filthy bad boys are my favourite.”

“They’ve caused me more trouble than they’re worth, but hopefully that trend has stopped,” Sherlock replied.

“Oh, I doubt it,” Moriarty sighed, “Well, I’ll leave you to your fun. You’ll want to take advantage of… that.”

Moriarty waved to the bulge in John’s trousers and John frowned at the rudeness. Thankfully he seemed willing to indulge Sherlock’s whim and with a teasing wave of his fingers he strode off while swaying his hips flirtatiously. Sherlock hurried forward and stripped off the bomb, tossing it aside. His hands combing over John’s body in concern, their eyes and then lips meeting hurriedly.

“Let’s get out of here before he changes his mind and comes back,” Sherlock stated firmly, but John’s legs wobbled and he sank down the wall as the adrenalin washed out of him all at once.

“What a ponce!” John gasped to cover his sudden weakness.

“Says the man hard up for it due to a tense discussion between two men,” Sherlock snickered, “Come along, John. We have a wedding to plan… and I believe you need some relief.”

“I can barely move my legs,” John replied shakily, “Give me a hand?”

Sherlock smirked and John gave him a scolding glance, “Right. Safety first.”

Sherlock held out a hand and John struggled to his feet, falling against Sherlock as his legs wobbled again.

“I’m out of practice with being in near death situations,” John stammered.

“You’re aroused and frightened all at once, part of it is due to our partial bond. Come home and we’ll remedy that.”

John was flushed and shaky the entire way home and Sherlock wasn’t in a much better state. He kept staring at John with a predatory look in his eyes but the presence of the cab driver kept them from touching each other. When they reached the flat they all but ran up the steps, Sherlock tripping over his feet in his hurry to get out of his clothes.

“Not right, not right, not right,” Sherlock muttered.

“What’s not right?” John asked worriedly.

“Gender,” Sherlock snapped, his voice going up an octave.

John swallowed. This was too good to be true. He was aware he’d have to adjust to being with a man from time to time, but to have Sherlock as a _woman_ for their bonding was going to make this far more comfortable for him. Not to mention he was frantic to finally see her tits, let alone get his hands on them!

Sherlock stripped off clothing to reveil hirself much as John had seen before, but the prick nestled between hir thighs was small and limp. It looked soft and John reached out to touch it without thinking. It was undeniably synthetic, but it was also warm from hir body heat and made of a soft, springy material. As John watched Sherlock unfastened the buckles and stripped off the packer to reveal a nest of soft dark curls beneath. The binder came off in a practiced motion that took more muscle than John had expected given the soft look. Then there she was, soft and curvy, her body moving with grace and charm as she slipped her arms around his neck.

“John,” Sherlock breathed, and John’s eyes widened in hope at the longing he saw in her eyes, “You’re still dressed.”

“What? Oh! Right!” John stepped back and tugged his clothes off, staggering as he forgot to take his shoes off before his trousers, “Sorry. Been a bit. Never bonded before.”

“Well, I should hope not,” Sherlock smirked, “Being that you’d not be my Soulmate if you had.”

“Oh, I’m yours,” John purred, “No wait. That sounded better in my head. Let me…”

“John,” Sherlock said softly, lying soothing hands on his shoulder, “Hush, my dear doctor. Honestly, you’ve done this more than I. It’s just sex. There’s nothing to it. You shove your dick in me and climax and we’re through.”

Sherlock smiled as she pulled John in for a hungry kiss, but John pulled away, “There’s a bit more to it than that, Sherlock. I want you to enjoy this. I’m not just going to… _shove it in_.”

Sherlock shrugged, “As you like. Just don’t take ages. I’ve got an experiment to finish and you’ve got a wedding to plan.”

“I’ve got a… wait…”

John didn’t finish as Sherlock tugged him towards her bedroom with a suggestive wiggle of a full arse. John moaned at the sight of those swaying hips, reaching out to give her lush bum a pinch. Sherlock jumped and gave him an irritated look, though it was decidedly teasing. Sherlock got him back a moment later by shoving him against the doorframe and snogging him senseless. John was hard as a rock; the urge to complete their bond now that they’d embarked on an intimate relationship was growing more intense by the second. Some Soulmates never bonded, but once that first kiss or sensual caress occurred the longing wouldn’t stop until they had fully consummated their bond. Only then would the names on their wrists change to show a small picture of their partner’s face. It would never change again after that, not even if the partner passed away. Forever he would have an image of Sherlock’s perfect face on his inner wrist preserved at this age, perhaps even with a look of bliss on his face (though considering it was Sherlock a look of scrutiny might fit better).

They stumbled into the bedroom, grinning and groping each other eagerly. John pushed Sherlock down on the bed and cupped a hand over one full breast while sliding their tongues together to enjoy the slick stroke of wet muscles together, imitating what John so deeply desired to do next. He slipped down, kissing neck and collar, enjoying a quick lick at her sepulchral notch, then going further to take one hard nipple into his mouth.

“Oh!” Sherlock gasped, “The b-bond, it seems to increase stim-stimulation.”

“Soulmate sex is the best sex,” John purred.

“I doubt it,” Sherlock wriggled, arching her back to press her breast more firmly against John’s mouth, “Sex is… a distraction. Oh!”

John had taken the other hard peak between his fingers and given it a slow twirl to ignite her nerve endings. He was going to distract the living daylights out of Sherlock Holmes! His mouth moved lower, twirling around a navel before lowering to the crease between thigh and that tantalizing mound.

“I… I _won’t_ shave for you,” Sherlock declared, “I’m not… oh!”

“I don’t mind combing through the jungle to get to the prize,” John purred, nuzzling his nose into damp curls and breathing in her musky scent, “Mmmm. That’s the ticket.”

“I smell good?” Sherlock asked, her voice cracking before she could stop it. He’d have her a brainless puddle of satisfaction in no time!

John spread her netherlips apart and gave her a cursory glance. She looked perfect. She _was_ perfect. Two dark pink inner lips were flushed with desire, her clit just beginning to peak out of it’s hood. He circled just the edges around the hood with a thumb and Sherlock gasped and shivered, eyes going wide.

_Has no one ever taken the time to pleasure her? Or was there a problem with the gender side of things? Or did she have sex as an experiment with someone who just never cared? Likely the last one._

John leaned down with an intense desire to bring her off until she was limp with exhaustion. He started with a few long strokes of his tongue around her inner lips, kissing her damp entrance lovingly. Sherlock’s fingers tangled in his hair and he tugged firmly.

“That’s not how you go about it, stop wasting time!” Sherlock scolded, “Wrong end, John!”

John growled angrily at whoever had put such ideas in her head and ignored her insistence of ‘up you go’ and other various nagging. She wasn’t saying no so he wasn’t stopping. Instead he sped up at the risk of over stimulating her and went straight for the prize. When John flicked her clit she let out a gasp of surprise and clenched his head with both strong thighs. John growled at the challenge and burrowed further into her, finding her clit with the skill of experience and suckling at it. Sherlock howled and writhed while John gripped her round buttocks, digging in nails when she began to thrash all the more. She was screaming his name and grinding his face into her wet quim even as her hips attempted to buck him away. Fluids dripped from her freely now, the spicy taste clinging to his lips. He almost missed that hideous mustache he’d had in his early twenties when he’d been trying to look older. The idea of her scent clinging to him for hours after was delectable.

“Oh gods, John!” Sherlock cried out, “I-I-I can’t! Please! Oh _bloody hell!”_

Then she was convulsing against him, hair clenched in fists as her legs convulsed and slick arousal soaked his chin. John moaned and kept up his flickering tongue until she bucked hard and then fell still. Only then did he climb up her body, grinning at the look of shocked pleasure on her face. He slid fingers between her hot folds and pressed a digit in. She was tight as he’d expected, but John wasn’t shockingly large even if he _was_ a bit above average. His girth wouldn’t pain her… not for this hole. He imagined he’d have to do a fair bit of stretching if she wanted him to take her round the back.

_Or she’ll take you… or he will, rather. Somehow that seems less horrifying with my Soulmate staring up at me with so much want in her eyes._

“Condom?” John asked, “I have some upstairs, but…”

“No,” Sherlock shook her head quickly, “I’m clean, as are you, and I’m on the pill.”

“You are?” He asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

“It’s for my mood swings during my cycle,” Sherlock sniffed haughtily, “I’ve got PMDD.”

“That actually explains a hell of a lot,” John nodded, pushing her thighs apart with his legs, “You ready or shall I sample your fine wine again?”

“Sample my…?” Sherlock snorted, “Do me a favour and stop talking. Fine wine, indeed!”

“You doubt?” John smirked, “Have a taste, then.”

“That’s _disgusting_ ,” Sherlock replied, pushing at his forehead to keep his lips away.

John laughed and laid flat across her. As he’d suspected Sherlock went completely still at the feel of his hard cockhead prodding her entrance. Something brief flickered over her face. Not fear or disgust. More like… resentment?

“Next time is yours,” John purred, “Next time you’re a fellow you can take me.”

That sealed it. Sherlock’s smile was like the sun and all the stars met and flirted with him at once. John grinned and manhandled a thigh to lift it up to his hip.

“Wrap yourself around me,” John purred, “I want to be as deep inside of you as possible without breaking you in half.”

Sherlock complied, long limbs enfolding him as a wicked grin settled beneath her perfect cheekbones. John lay flat across her, knowing she was no fragile maiden, gripped her shoulder with one hand and used the other to direct his cockhead to stroke her wet cunt. Her entrance was wide for him, and he pressed in slowly with a moan of relief. He was glad he’d taken the time to bring her off once as he was going to be unable to slow himself down now he was inside that tight wet heat.

John groaned as he pulled free before her ankles drew him back in forcefully.

“Oh, fuck yes,” John moaned deeply, “Mmm, Sherlock you gorgeous, sexy, brilliant polygender sex god slash goddess!”

“God slash g-? Oh!” Sherlock was cut off as John took up a hungry pace, the hand he’d been using to guide his cock now occupied in rubbing his thumb across her fully exposed bud.

“I’d like to buy a clit pump for you,” John panted, “I want to pump it up until it looks like a tiny cock and suck on it while you’re in a boy phase.”

“Oh fuck!” Sherlock screamed, bucking beneath him. Her heels dug into his arse and he revelled in it.

“Bruise me,” John growled, “Mark me yours!”

“Technically our Soulmarks altering via the hormonal flux of…”

“If you’re still talking I’m not doing this right,” John grumbled, then took a mouthful of her neck and began to suck hard.

Sherlock writhed beneath him, her sopping wet puss clenching as she came around his aching cock. John groaned, barely holding himself off as he fucked her through it. Another few thrusts and he was done, spending himself inside of her as his bollocks clenched over and again with wave after wave of pleasure. He panted against her shoulder, shivering and sighing until he finally felt empty. For a few moments they lay still, wrapped around each other and holding tightly. John’s thumb was still moving in slow circles and it brought a pleading mew from Sherlock’s lips. John smiled softly against her reddened flesh, rubbing his evening stubble against the sensitive flesh. He gave her a few hard rubs and that was all it took. He hissed as his sensitive member was clenched again, Sherlock all but sobbing out her climax. He pulled free before it could turn painful and Sherlock made a face.

“Terrible timing,” She snapped, “Now the bed is drenched!”

John chuckled, “Sorry, I’ll clean it up.”

“Yes, you will,” Sherlock pouted, then paused as an excited look flicked across her face, “Let me see your wrist! I want to see what expression I have!”

John held up his wrist, content to let her see it first while he pulled hers to his eyes. John’s expression was one of pride and contentment, the soft smile on his lips that followed having pleasured a partner into a boneless mess. John stared up at Sherlock’s face, finding him looking shocked and pleased.

“What?” John asked.

John retrieved his wrist and blushed anew at the sight. One of the reasons Soulmarks were so private was because rarely some body part that was _less than_ public was portrayed on the inside of someone’s wrist. Now was that time. The image on the inside of John’s wrist was the one John had first seen when he’d walked in on Sherlock post-orgasm the day before, his proud cock strapped to his hips and dripping with fluids. They both dissolved into laughter, holding each other tightly as their post coital bliss lent itself into the soft indulgent sensation of bonding.


End file.
